


Wall

by Nyssa



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky and Hutch visit monuments.  Starsky comes down with something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wall

**Author's Note:**

> The Vietnam Veterans Memorial (aka, "the Wall") was dedicated in November, 1982. As of last count in 2010, 58,267 names are listed. One of them is Kenneth P. Hutchinson.
> 
> This was written for the Me & Thee 1000 "sickfic" challenge.

_November, 1982_

 

Starsky coughed as he buttoned his shirt. "I'm going. I didn't come three thousand miles to lay around a hotel room, even with you, gorgeous."

"Starsk, it'll still be there tomorrow. If you'd just get some rest, you might feel better by then. You tossed and turned all night."

Starsky shrugged into his jacket. "That was just jet lag. I'm tellin' you, I'm fine. I'll rest later." He grinned. "I'll lay my poor, weary head on your big, strong shoulder and you can fuss and mutter and bring me calamine tea."

"Chamomile," Hutch said automatically. He gave Starsky a critical look. "Your face is flushed."

Starsky paid no attention. "And I'll let you rub that steamy stuff all over my chest and feed me chicken soup. But right now – " He broke off, the words dissolving into another dry, hacking cough.

"Okay," Hutch said quietly. "Let's go."

Starsky blinked at the unexpected concession of defeat. "Let's go?"

Hutch shrugged. "I'm not gonna fight with you. I know this is important to you. Let's go."

Starsky stood silent for a moment before pulling Hutch into a tight hug. He closed his eyes. He _was_ feeling a little lightheaded, to tell the truth. But then, he always did when Hutch touched him.

 

*****

 

He could see himself in the wall. The shiny black stone threw his image back at him as perfectly as the water of the Reflecting Pool, just a stone's throw away. And Hutch's image too, of course. Hutch was resting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, but Starsky didn't have to look at the reflection to know that.

He traced the names with a finger, stopping occasionally to read one aloud. "James J. McNeely. He went by Jeff. He was from Missouri, I think." Pause. "Winfred L. Cunningham. Black kid from Detroit." Pause. "Adam T. Zabrinski." Starsky smiled. "We called him A to Z. Really bad shot. Always talking about his dogs back home. His mother sent him pictures of them all the time."

Hutch's fingers moved to the back of Starsky's neck. "Doing okay?" he asked. His voice was gentle.

Starsky sniffed, but waved away the handkerchief Hutch held out to him. "I'm fine." He was hot, though, uncomfortably so, even in the cool and windy D.C. air. He pulled off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder.

They moved down a little, past a man in a wheelchair and a gray-haired woman who was sobbing quietly, her hands over her face.

Starsky pointed at the wall. "February 21, 1968. That's the day I got out." He peered at the names under the date, his lips moving silently, before he stepped back. "Nobody I knew."

Hutch stroked Starsky's neck.

A minute later, Starsky's breath caught in his throat. "Hutch."

Hutch's eyes followed his partner's pointing finger to June 5, 1968. "Kenneth P. Hutchinson."

Starsky looked at him. "That's – "

Hutch spoke softly. "There are a lot of Hutchinsons, Starsk. And you know my middle initial is R."

"Yeah." Starsky stared at the name.

When he said nothing more, Hutch touched his hand. "Babe?"

Abruptly, Starsky turned away from the wall and cleared his throat. "Okay, I've seen it. Let's go."

"You don't want to stay for the ceremony?" Hutch's surprised expression faded to concern. "Are you feeling worse?" He put out a hand, reaching for Starsky's forehead.

Starsky dodged it. "Nah, I don't need to hear speeches. I was there, remember? I know what these guys did. They can't tell me anything I don't already know." He coughed again, and closed his eyes for a moment. They stung, and his head, which had been hurting faintly since he woke up, was now beginning to throb, reminding him rather sickeningly of the headaches he'd had sometimes over there, when the whole world had been reduced to jungle heat and crushing humidity and stomach-twisting fear.

"You look like shit," Hutch said tightly. "Here, sit down." He led Starsky to a nearby bench and eased him onto it. "I'm gonna find a pay phone and call a cab. Don't move while I'm gone, or I'll whip your ass."

Starsky tried to smile, but his lips were starting to feel like rubber. "Sweet talker," he mumbled.

 

*****

 

By the time they got back to the hotel, Starsky was pale and sweaty and silent. He leaned heavily against Hutch as they rode up in the elevator, eyes closed, head drooping. He seemed only vaguely aware of his surroundings, and gave a startled jerk when the elevator doors opened.

"Where – "

"We're back at the hotel, buddy. Come on, just a few more steps." Hutch guided Starsky carefully into the corridor.

Starsky raised his head and pushed feebly at Hutch's shoulder. "Get away, dummy, I'll give it to ya." His voice was a hollow rasp.

"Starsk, you've got the flu, I'm sure. I got a shot last month, remember?" _Like you should have, and like you will next year if I have to knock you out and carry you to the health department_. "You won't give it to me. Come on, easy does it."

"Legs feel like jello," Starsky muttered as they made their painful way to room 605. "You like jello, doncha, Hutch?"

"I love it," Hutch said easily. "Especially green jello with marshmallows and whipped cream. Lean against the wall, buddy, I gotta unlock the door."

"That's the kind I'll be, then," Starsky whispered. His eyes closed again as he sagged against the wall. "Green 'n' gooey."

By the time he got Starsky safely installed in the king-sized bed – stripped to his shorts, a cold washcloth pressed to his hot face, the complimentary box of Kleenex within easy reach on the nightstand – Hutch was feeling a little gooey himself. Taking care of Starsky always affected him that way, heart-clenching worry alternating with melting tenderness and the sheer satisfaction of being needed. It alarmed him sometimes, that need to be needed.

He brushed Starsky's sweat-dampened curls back from his forehead. "I have to go find a drugstore, Starsk. I need to buy a thermometer and some cough medicine. Will you be okay till I get back?"

"Yeah, sure." Starsky shivered and pulled impatiently at the blankets. "Why the hell's it so cold in here?"

Hutch sighed and tucked the covers around his partner's shoulders. "You were burning up a minute ago."

"Well, 'm not now." Hutch heard Starsky's teeth chatter. "Damn, I'm freezin'."

"I'll get some extra blankets downstairs. Don't get out of bed. Starsk? Listen to me, don't get out of bed. I'll be back in just a few minutes, okay?" He crossed his fingers behind his back. He didn't know how close the nearest drugstore was.

"Yeah," Starsky said in a faint voice, and interrupted himself with a violent coughing fit.

Hutch stepped into the bathroom and used the toilet. When he came out, Starsky was pushing the covers away and muttering, "Hot." His head tossed from side to side on the pillow before he said suddenly, "We gotta go to work. Heat wave – they'll be comin' outta the sewers in a heat wave…."

Hutch caught him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Starsk, Starsk, we're on vacation, remember? We're in Washington." He pushed a suddenly unresisting Starsky back down to the mattress.

"Oh, yeah." He blinked up at Hutch. "We goin' to the Smithsonian?"

"Absolutely," Hutch whispered. "As soon as you feel like it."

Starsky sighed.

Hutch grabbed the room key and his wallet and headed for the door.

"Hutch?

Hutch turned, one hand on the doorknob. "Yeah, buddy?"

Starsky's eyes were shiny, glassy with fever. "That wasn't you, was it?"

"What?"

Starsky gestured vaguely. "Out there, on th' wall." His voice was becoming slurred. "Wasn't your name, was it?"

For a moment, Hutch couldn't speak. Then he said softly, "No, babe. I'm here, I'm okay."

Starsky smiled, satisfied. " 'kay." His eyes slid shut.

Hutch watched him for a long moment. _Fifty-eight thousand names. And, thank God, none of them is Starsky_.

He swallowed past the knot in his throat, and slipped quietly out the door.


End file.
